


Denial

by Felixbug



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Gags, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Magic, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felixbug/pseuds/Felixbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Anders was relentless. Hawke gave up hope of containing his eager moans as Anders began an assault on his senses, an icy handprint on his thigh one moment, the splatter of wax against his chest the next, a trail of bites and kisses up the side of his neck that left a trail of ice behind them. He flinched at every touch, anticipation making every moment blissful agony, writhing until the ropes at his wrists and ankles began to creak as if they might break. They held, and Anders continued. Hawke felt him descend between his thighs and lean forward to breathe ice-touched air across his chest. Anders’ hair brushed over his straining cock and Hawke wished he knew if it was deliberate or accidental, but even that faint touch was enough to leave him whimpering, begging for more.</i>
</p>
<p>Written for an anonymous prompt on Tumblr that asked for orgasm denial, ice magic, bondage and sensory deprivation. The hot wax is all my fault! Long-as-hell PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompts: (I combined these into one fic after checking with both anons, seeing as they were so similar) I want to see some Hawke bondage by either Anders or Justice who just basically drive Hawke crazy. Love your writing! // Anders and whoever, bondage, sensory deprivation, orgasm denial a lot, magic ice stuff. I'm sorry.
> 
> This fic contains consensual kink - a little heavier than what I usually write, if the long tag list didn't already tell you that!

“Okay, ready.”

Anders’ voice was an eager purr against Hawke’s ear, and his hands drifted over his wrists. The hint of contact set Hawke’s skin prickling, but it was the firm tug at the ropes that bound his wrists that really sent a shiver down his spine. Anders was thorough, the knots were firm, and the ropes tightly bound Hawke’s wrists to each side of the chair back. Hawke was going nowhere.

Anders wasn’t dominant often, but oh Maker, when he was – Hawke shivered as Anders crouched to check his ankles. He stayed out of sight, reaching forward to wrap his fingers around each of Hawke’s ankles in turn to check the tension in the ropes there. With his feet bound to the chair legs and his hands secured to the back just behind his hips, Hawke was held but not immobilized. He arched his back experimentally, then winced as the change in angle tugged on his shoulders. Maybe he’d stay still.

“Comfortable?” Anders asked. Hawke could hear the smile in his voice, a teasing smirk that promised however comfortable he was now, he wouldn’t be for long.

“Now you mention it, I couldn’t mind a cushion,” said Hawke with a laugh, shifting slightly against the hard wooden seat. He was fully nude, and the hard edge of the seat bit into the backs of his thighs.

“Serious answer, Garrett.”

Hawke bit his lip and nodded. There was iron in Anders’ voice, a commanding tone he rarely heard unless Justice was involved. He put thoughts of Justice out of his head – this was a night just for the two of them.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

Hawke heard the whisper of silk behind him, and caught the scent of elfroot as Anders’ hands moved in front of his face. There was a brief moment where he could see Anders’ fingers holding black fabric, then the blindfold was covering his eyes and Anders tied it behind his head. Hawke’s bedroom disappeared. There was the faintest hint of light on the lower edge of his vision, but after a moment he felt Anders’ fingers against his cheeks, a tug at the fabric, and the last sliver of light went out.

Hawke felt movement behind him – not heard exactly, even in boots Anders was light on his feet and the carpet swallowed his footsteps. Perhaps it was the faintest disturbance in the air, or the retreating warmth of Anders’ body, but something was taken and he was isolated. Seconds passed, and all Hawke could hear was the faint pops and cracks of the fire and his own pulse in his ears. He licked his lips – nerves or anticipation or a little of both, it was hard to say – and twisted his wrists slightly against the ropes.

A faint thud from – was that the direction of the bed? Hawke tilted his head and yes, he could hear the slight creak of the mattress, the scuff and clink of buckles and a second thud. Boots being removed. Next, the soft rustle of fabric. He imagined Anders’ shirt falling away, exposing his lean, angular body. Another creak and the distinctive groan of a loose floorboard – he could imagine where he stood, could hear the whisper of nimble fingers against laces and the soft impact of fabric dropping against carpet as Anders stripped naked. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, but robbed of his vision it was maddening.

“So,” Hawke said, wetting his lips again. “What now?”

“Silence.”

Hawke gasped, jumping at the sound of Anders’ voice right next to his ear. Just a whisper, but it dragged across his skin and down his spine, leaving heat in its wake. He felt his cock stir – already, and he could imagine Anders’ satisfied smirk, because really – how easy could he make this?

Anders’ fingertips brushed his ankle – how did he _move_ like that? Hawke caught his groan before it could escape his throat, swallowing hard as Anders’ fingers skimmed over his calf and up, curling against the backs of his knees and up onto his inner thighs. The faintest, gentlest rasp of fingernails made him catch his breath and his thighs tensed briefly. The touch stopped instantly, leaving Hawke’s skin burning in its absence, aching for the slightest contact.

“You’re doing well,” Anders’ growled against his ear. “But I know you can do better. Still, quiet. Can you do that for me?”

Hawke nodded, and moments later he felt Anders’ fingers tracing circles against the backs of his hands, his wrists, up to rake through the dusting of hair on his forearms. Anders’ breath was warm against his shoulder, so close, less than an inch from his skin as those lightly calloused fingertips skimmed up over his shoulders and onto his neck. Hawke’s skin tingled from the agonizingly gentle touches, and at the first faint scuff of fingernails down the sides of his neck he couldn’t help a quiet groan.

Anders breathed softly into his ear, the ghost of a chuckle in his voice, and as Hawke relaxed into the sound Anders bit down hard on his earlobe. He yelped, and Anders bit harder, tugging the skin between his teeth before releasing it and swiping his tongue over the stinging indents left behind. Hawke bit his lip, every muscle tensed against the urge to flinch away or lean into the touch – Maker, he didn’t know which. All that existed were Anders’ fingers on his skin and his breath against his neck as his hands skimmed down over Hawke’s chest. Anders’ fingers traced faint spirals, carded through chest hair, skimmed lower and lower to rake over his hips and back up. Every teasing touch awakened his skin, he was oversensitive and desperately exposed, bound and helpless beneath Anders’ touch. His cock shifted, hardening rapidly as Anders’ fingers traced the tendons in his neck.

All contact vanished – just a moment, but it was the longest moment of his life. Then Anders’ leg brushed against his and he felt him move, a slide of bare skin across his thighs as Anders swung one leg across his lap to stand over him. Hawke held himself still and quiet – he could do that, he could prove that much – but he couldn’t stop the racing of his pulse or the way his breath quickened. Anders was close enough to touch, close enough to pull Hawke forward and wrap his lips around his cock if he chose. Any contact at all would do, he just wanted Anders’ skin against his.

As if he’d read his mind, Anders pressed two fingertips against Hawke’s lips. Hawke didn’t move – he wouldn’t, not without permission, and he could hear Anders’ approval in his voice when he spoke.

“Suck.”

Hawke drew the offered fingers into his mouth eagerly, forgetting the rules just for a moment to let himself moan softly at the taste of Anders’ skin – faint salt and ingrained elfroot where he ran his tongue across the edge of his nails. He heard Anders’ sharp intake of breath and gently grazed over the knuckles with his teeth. For a moment he thought he’d won – his scalp tingled as Anders’ free hand skimmed over the tips of his hair, his fingers twitched against it. Hawke prayed for him to break, to grip his hair, snatch the fingers from his mouth and drag him down to swallow his cock. Then the hand in his hair withdrew, and the fingers in his mouth toyed briefly with his lower lip before being pulled out of reach.

Wet fingers resumed the infuriatingly gentle touches, circling his nipples until they hardened and Hawke was panting roughly, his cock now fully hard and beginning to ache with urgent need. Anders seemed indifferent to Hawke’s increasing desperation, trailing damp fingers over his inner thighs again and again until Hawke broke and rocked his hips forward, up, arching off the seat until his shoulders burned from the strain. Anders’ thighs tensed on either side of him, Hawke could feel the unspoken need jolt between them, but Anders was patient and he was in control. He stepped away, leaving Hawke breathing raggedly as he slumped back against the chair.

“You know,” Anders murmured against his neck, threading his fingers through Hawke’s hair and allowing him to push back into his touch. “I’d been going to touch you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My hand on your cock? You were so good, you almost earned it, but I think – Maker, Garrett, I think I’m going to have to draw this out all night.”

“Nnn…” Hawke broke off, biting back his protest.

“Better.”

Anders moved away, and Hawke held his breath to try to hear his movements. His ears strained – he thought, almost, maybe, he could hear something – and then the fire crackled and spat and swallowed the sound. Hawke took a shaky breath and held it again, listening intently. At first he could hear nothing – not a footstep nor a breath – then the faintest sound in the darkness. A fizzing hiss – short, quiet, but unmistakable. Fire magic. Anders had conjured a spark.

Hawke exhaled hard, he couldn’t hold his breath, couldn’t even slow it, his chest heaved as he twisted in the ropes. One word could end this and he wasn’t quite there, not yet, but that didn’t stop the hot hard ball of fear forming in the pit of his stomach. Anders had used magic on him before – electricity that could go from a tingling hum up to sharp snaps of pain against his skin – but this was new. New was one thing – but new when blindfolded was quite another.

A faint hint of smoke caught Hawke’s nose and he turned his head frantically, trying to follow the scent. The weakest draughts could catch and twist the fine thread of smoke, snatch it through the air, tantalising but always just out of reach. Hawke thought he heard the creak of a floorboard, but as he turned toward it he smelled the sharpness of smoke from the other side. His heart pounded and it wasn’t just fear – his cock throbbed, rigid and twitching against his abdomen.

It was in front of him – he was sure of it, it had to be. Hawke leaned forward – just slightly, surely he could get away with that much. Then the first burning hot drop of candlewax landed on his spine.

Hawke cried out – the sudden burst of sensation was overwhelming. It hurt – the hot, thick liquid felt as if it was burrowing into his flesh – but after so much teasing the intensity became raw pleasure. He fell back, pushing back against the chair as if he could reach Anders through sheer will, and was rewarded with a low chuckle and the brush of fingers through his hair.

“You like that?” Anders’ tone was light, but Hawke knew he was being given an out if he wanted it. The caress of fingers across his scalp was comforting even as the spot between his shoulder blades stung and throbbed beneath the cooling wax.

“Yes,” he groaned, and he did, more than he could have ever expected, hissing and arching his back as another scalding drop hit his shoulder.

Anders moved closer – not quite touching, not that generous, but Hawke could feel the warmth of his body close to his back. He tightened his grip on Hawke’s hair and pulled his head back, exposing his neck and pulling his body taut. Hawke shivered, anticipation building, and another drop hit his skin. The initial white-hot burst against his skin deepened to a throbbing ache as the wax cooled, but there was no time to get used to it. The drops came thick and fast, peppering his skin in a hundred points of pain and pleasure that left him shaking.

He felt Anders move – leaning forward over his body and then – Hawke bit his lip to keep back a shaking whimper as a stream of wax poured over his inner thigh. For a moment it felt as if he’d been cut, a sharp stripe of burning heat that followed the curve of his leg and dripped down onto the carpet below him.

“Please,” Hawke groaned – he couldn’t take it, every inch of him felt raw, a dizzying mix of intense sensation and desperation to be touched. “Anders, please, fuck, please touch me, I need…”

Anders’ low chuckle against his ear should have been a warning, but Hawke was too eager to hear the threat. He moaned at the soft touch of Anders’ fingers skimming down his neck, whimpered at the soft patter of wax falling against his thigh, gentle touches and burning points of heat combining until he thought he might drown in sensation. Then Anders’ fingers wrapped around his throat, faintly humming, and Hawke realised what was coming and strained against the ropes. Anders fingers twitched, and electricity burst across Hawke’s skin.

It hurt – snapping against his sensitive flesh, driving into his nerves like pinpricks, making him thrash and groan and – Maker, he was begging, broken words slipping from him as his toes curled and his hands clenched into fists. But it was contact – Anders’ warm, firm hand against his neck, the familiar pads of his fingers, and in his eagerness to punish Hawke he’d stepped in closer. Hawke could feel Anders’ body brush against his back with every breath he took.

“Yes,” he choked out. “Oh Maker, yes.”

Anders stepped away. His hand was gone from Hawke’s neck, no new wax hit his skin and Hawke was left alone with the fading sting and the painful hardness of his cock. He felt his nails bite into the palms of his hands – he would not beg, he would prove he could be patient, he would… Hawke bit his lip to keep back from making a sound. He’d broken the rules, he’d thrashed and moaned and begged – what if Anders intended to leave him like this all night? Not just draw it out but leave him bound and half broken, shaking and panting, aching for the slightest touch?   

“Anders?” he asked. He listened for the slightest movement but heard nothing. “Anders – please, don’t leave me like this.” He listened again, but still nothing. “I’ll do anything just please, touch me, I need…” he tugged at the ropes, and the chair shifted slightly. “Anders, love, please, please…”

It was sudden – another rain of wax against his thigh, a soft chuckle and a firm hand wrapping tightly around his cock. Hawke’s breathless thanks became broken, stuttering moans as Anders began to stroke him. Quick, skilled touches left him flushed, gasping, pulses of pleasure scorching through his nerves. He felt the slick moisture beading on the tip of his cock, the intense jolt as Anders’ thumb swept over it, and then Anders bent to suck and nip at his thigh. Hawke threw back his head with a groan, his hips lifted off the chair, bucking under the steady strokes of Anders’ hand and he was close, unbearably close, shaking as the tension coiled tighter and tighter, just another moment…

As suddenly as he’d started, Anders stopped. Hawke felt his hand still for a moment and then it was gone, Anders was moving away and he was left, straining against his bonds and taking rough, gasping breaths. He could still feel the ghost of pressure on his cock, his length still throbbed and burned with the memory of clever fingers, but it wasn’t enough – just one more touch could take him over the edge.

“I told you,” Anders murmured behind him. He pressed his lips against the back of Hawke’s neck and Hawke could feel the smile playing on his lips – his breath was quickened too, but he was enjoying watching Hawke squirm. When he spoke again his breath was cold – tinged with magic, leaving a thin film of frost across the back of Hawke’s neck. “I can make this last all night.”

Anders directed his breath down over Hawke’s back, blowing down his spine leaving a trail of ice across Hawke’s flushed skin. Hawke shivered at the contrast – warm skin chilled until it felt as if the ice was snapping at his nerves, tiny crystals melting into cool trickles that traced the contours of his muscled back and descended rapidly along his spine. Anders’ hand pressed down on his shoulder, fingers encased in ice that made Hawke squirm, and a sudden stream of melted wax hit the back of his neck and traced down his spine in a rush of burning ecstasy.

From there, Anders was relentless. Hawke gave up hope of containing his eager moans as Anders began an assault on his senses, an icy handprint on his thigh one moment, the splatter of wax against his chest the next, a trail of bites and kisses up the side of his neck that left a trail of ice behind them. He flinched at every touch, anticipation making every moment blissful agony, writhing until the ropes at his wrists and ankles began to creak as if they might break. They held, and Anders continued. Hawke felt him descend between his thighs and lean forward to breathe ice-touched air across his chest. Anders’ hair brushed over his straining cock and Hawke wished he knew if it was deliberate or accidental, but even that faint touch was enough to leave him whimpering, begging for more.

“You will be silent,” Anders said.

Hawke tried to read the tone without the familiar sight of his face to guide him – there was a commanding edge to it, but a roughness to his breath. Anders was as eager as him, Hawke could imagine the deepening flush on his cheeks, the way his breath would quicken as Hawke pulled his body against him and wrapped a hand around his cock. He wouldn’t draw this out much longer, surely he _couldn’t._

“Or what?” said Hawke defiantly.

Electricity hit him hard, sparks bursting against his chest. Hawke leaned forward into Anders’ hand, shuddering from the pain but relishing the brief contact, fingers twitching against his skin. The stinging burn faded quickly, replaced with the bite of icy fingers skimming up his chest to slide over his neck and grip his jaw firmly. Hawke hissed between his teeth at the contact – Anders had driven the temperature even lower, and Hawke’s skin ached as the warmth was stolen from him.

“It was not a request,” Anders said, tilting his head back. “Before I’m through with you, you will be silent and you will be still.”

Hawke strained against the ropes, rational thought fleeing at the burning points of ice biting into his skin, the streaks of warm wax and melting ice coating his body, the throbbing ache between his legs. It was too much, he pushed up against Anders’ touch with a whimper, and Anders released him and stepped away again leaving him gasping.

He heard Anders moving behind him – the soft dragging of fabric, fumbling rustles of pockets and pouches being explored – then he was back, taking a firm grip on Hawke’s jaw and tipping his head back against Anders’ chest.

“Open your hand,” Anders ordered.

Hawke relaxed his fingers. He felt something small and round being pressed into his hand and closed his fist around it instinctively. The slight movement jarred it, and it clinked faintly in his grip.

“Do you understand?” Anders’ voice was softened – not quite breaking the scene, but pushing at the edges just a little as warmth crept into his voice. Hawke flexed his fingers and the little ball – metal, he thought? a bell, perhaps – clinked again. It’d make a real noise if he dropped it – loud enough for Anders to notice no matter what he was doing. A signal to replace the word he’d never needed. There was only one reason he wouldn’t be able to talk. Hawke tensed and tried to tug his jaw out of Anders’ grip, but his grip was firm.

“Love, I need to know you understand,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Hawke managed. “Yes – but Anders, please – I’ll be quiet…”

His protests were cut off as Anders stuffed a length of fabric into his mouth. Anders’ iron grip on his jaw forced his teeth apart as Anders forced a crumpled silk rag between his lips. He spluttered, trying to force the fabric out, but Anders had the advantage. He held Hawke’s head tightly against his chest and pulled his mouth shut, then wound a second strip of silk around his lips and tied it firmly at the back of Hawke’s head. The moment his head was released Hawke tried to wriggle his mouth open to push the offending fabric loose, but Anders knew what he was doing. Hawke had seconds to wonder where he’d learned _that,_ then he felt Anders’ hands – both coated with a thin layer of ice – pressing against his inner thighs, and a soft breath of icy air whispered over his straining cock.

Hawke groaned against the gag and shuddered, reduced to broken half-sobs as Anders’ fingers traced patterns against his thighs. He skimmed up and up to graze his balls, dipped lower to tease his entrance, wandered up onto his belly with just the faintest brush against his cock as they passed. Hawke was on the edge of breaking, but he gripped the little bell in his hand hard enough he felt it bruise his palm. He was shaking – that was beyond his control – his chest heaved and his cock throbbed heavily against his abdomen but he would not struggle, would not arch into Anders’ touch, he would prove himself worthy of this. With every pass of Anders’ hands Hawke’s muffled cries faded. He bit down hard on the soggy fabric, rough breaths through his nose, gritted teeth against crushed silk, but no sound. He could be silent. He _had_ to be.

That burningly cold breath was closer – fingers lingering longer with every pass. Hawke finally let the tension fall from his thighs, let his back ease back against the chair. The fingers that held the bell in his hand still stayed clenched tight, nails digging into his palm. He could end this but he wouldn’t – however much Anders drew this out he needed to be pushed, to be broken, to _submit_. Anders ran his palm over Hawke’s thigh, squeezing firmly at the relaxed muscle.

“Good,” he said, kneading gently with chilly fingers. “You’re doing so well.”

Then – and for a moment, Hawke couldn’t believe it was real, couldn’t quite accept the burst of intense sensation – Anders wrapped his lips around Hawke’s cock. They were cool but not freezing, just delicious contrast against his heat, soft against his hardness and _Maker_ his tongue. Anders’ mouth worked magic of a different kind, quick, firm strokes as his lips glided up and down Hawke’s shaft and delicate swirls of his tongue that hit all the right spots over and over.

Hawke stayed still, paralyzed into submission by the overwhelming sensations torturing his flesh. Anders’ tongue swept over the head of his cock again, the weakest hint of sparks trailing in its wake and his nerves were on fire, heart pounding and teeth grinding into the gag as he was swept up in the building wave of heat and pleasure. No sight, no voice, barely able to hear above his own thudding pulse and quickened breath, all that existed was the tingling perfection of Anders’ mouth working his cock. An icy finger slipped between his legs, gathering trails of saliva and pressing into him, humming with magic until it curled and burst faint sparks deep inside him.

It was exquisite torture – every trick Anders knew to leave him squirming and groaning, thrusting into his mouth and gripping his hair, and Hawke couldn’t move, didn’t even dare grunt as he felt his cock brush the back of Anders’ throat. Anders let warmth flow back into his mouth and the sudden wet heat almost took Hawke over the edge, too much, too good as Anders drew him deeper expertly. The icy hand on his thigh and the soft hum of power on the finger buried inside him reminded him of who was in control, threat and reward combined.

Anders pulled away, hands withdrawing and lips sliding up Hawke’s cock, holding at the tip for just a moment before slipping away. The need to thrust was almost painful – Hawke ached for the slightest touch, but he waited, teeth clenched in the wet silk. He felt the brush of Anders’ legs moving against his, straightening up, feet scuffing against carpet as he moved to straddle Hawke’s hips.

“Look at you,” Anders breathed, and Hawke felt the faint brush of his fingers skimming over his blindfold, across his cheeks smearing wet trails behind them – tears he hadn’t even realised he’d shed – then up to brush soothingly through his hair. “Finally, you’re doing so well.”

He leaned down and kissed Hawke over the gag, chaste pressure through silk, then he was pulling back. His hand skimmed over Hawke’s cheek again and was gone. Hawke strained his ears listening to the faint sounds of movement, quiet pop as a stopper was removed from a bottle and then, unmistakable, Anders let out a quiet moan.

“You’ve – earned this,” Anders said, a catch in his breath and soft, wet sounds punctuating his words. “Maker, Garrett, you look good like this.” His fist clenched in Hawke’s hair again, a tremor in his fingers as they raked across his scalp to close in the tousled strands.

Hawke could feel the cooled wax cracking on his skin with every breath, the trickles of cool water from melted ice pooling around his ass, every inch of him burned or stung or ached to be touched. He knew how he looked – flushed, panting, pushed well beyond desperate. Hawke caught another soft sound followed by a groan and had to bite down on the gag so hard his teeth ached to keep from whimpering at the mental image that came with it. He _knew_ those sounds – Anders was preparing himself, fingers buried in his ass and thrusting hard. The thought of Anders grinding down against his hand, standing over him with lean, pale thighs trembling and his head thrown back, hand between his legs just inches above Hawke’s cock, stretching and slicking himself for it… Hawke felt his answering groan claw up his throat and he swallowed it, mouthing the wet cloth, focusing on the bite of fabric across his cheeks and the rasp of rope at his wrists and ankles. He would _earn_ this.

Anders’ lips brushed his cheek, down to his jawline, onto his neck where he sucked and nipped and left a tingling spot Hawke knew would bruise. Anders’ stifled moans vibrated against his skin and echoed in his ear, too hot, too eager, Maker he wanted him _now_ but he was powerless. Any sound, any movement would drag this out and it was already unbearable.

Anders’ lips dropped to his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin amidst the wax and Hawke could feel every rock of his fingers making his body twitch. He could picture it – Anders was beautiful when he touched himself, even more when he was rough – hungry for more, sprawled out with three fingers inside him, panting and biting his lip as he thrust hard into himself, back arching off the bed. It would be so much better to see him now, pleasure so intense he could barely stand but still in control, still with the power to deny Hawke everything he needed on a whim.

Moments later Anders’ hand was on his cock, oiled fingers gripping him hard. His breath was against his ear and his thighs trembling as he lowered himself, and Hawke nearly came just from the broken, eager little cry Anders made as he finally impaled himself on his cock.

“I want,” Anders panted against his neck, slipping his hands behind Hawke’s head and curling in his hair. “Maker, I want to _hear_ you.”

His fingers made quick work of the knot in Hawke’s gag, then delved between his lips to tug the sodden fabric from between his teeth. Hawke ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to rid himself of the stale taste, but he couldn’t find his voice – not yet. It was too soon, Anders’ commands and punishments too fresh in his mind. Then Anders _moved,_ one hand still tight in his hair, the other resting on his jaw, slowly rising and falling and so hot and tight and slick around Hawke’s cock. Anders kissed him, slipping his tongue between his lips and pulling his head back as he picked up speed, riding him hard and biting Hawke’s lip.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured against Hawke’s lips. “It’s allowed, love, let me hear.”

Hawke groaned, and was rewarded with a cool breath down the side of his neck. Anders braced his hand against Hawke’s chest, ice and sparks overwhelming him again as magic played over his skin, only barely controlled as Anders sunk down on his cock again and again. It was almost unbearable, pleasure that hovered on the edge of pain as Anders fucked himself on Hawke’s cock. He felt raw, used, broken – and he loved it, finding his voice and punctuating every descent of Anders’ body with a low moan.

Anders tipped forward against him, his body damp with sweat sliding against Hawke’s chest as he continued to ride him. Hawke could feel Anders’ cock trapped between them, and hear the tremor in Anders’ voice as he angled his hips just right and began to race towards his own peak. His fingernails dug into Hawke’s scalp and his teeth were on his jaw, pleasure built as Hawke’s body was overwhelmed, a disorienting whirlwind of touch and scent in the endless darkness. He was isolated, all that existed was Anders’ body writhing against him and the tight heat around his cock as he broke, and came with a choked, shaken cry of Anders’ name.

“Open your mouth,” Anders gasped against his ear, nipping at his earlobe as he pulled back to slide off Hawke’s cock and up his body, straightening until he stood over him again.

Hawke let his mouth fall open as Anders twisted his hair, tugging his head back, and in the darkness Hawke could hear the quick, sharp strokes of Anders’ hand on his cock and the bitten off whimper in the back of his throat. It was only seconds before Anders’ hand twitched against his scalp and he rocked forward with his thigh against Hawke’s chest. Hawke felt streaks of warmth over his face and neck and thick spurts across his tongue, heard Anders’ harsh, rough breaths, and his shaking hand caught the blindfold and it slipped. The thinnest sliver of light, bright gold in the blackness.

Hawke stared at the light until his eyes watered, barely feeling the brief, tender caress of Anders’ fingers across his lips. He felt the kiss the followed, moaning against the hot, eager tongue that invaded his mouth. Anders pulled away finally, but he didn’t leave Hawke untouched – not this time. His hands trailed over Hawke’s body and he spoke softly, whispers of praise and encouragement as he got to work on the knots at Hawke’s wrists.

“Just a few moments, love,” he said, tracing small circles against Hawke’s wrist until the knots loosened and he could tug the rope free. Hawke gasped sharply as it fell away – his wrists were raw, bruised from his straining. Anders pressed a kiss to the swollen indents with a quiet hum against his skin, and Hawke felt the warm rush of healing magic flowing through them, soothing the ache.

“You can drop this now,” Anders said softly, unwrapping Hawke’s fingers and removing the little metal sphere. It jingled faintly as Anders dropped it, and then Hawke’s hands were free and Anders was standing behind him, soothing fingers toying with the blindfold. “I’m going to loosen this for you,” he said. “You can take it off when you’re ready – it’s going to be bright.”

Hawke didn’t want to wait – even the thin slice of firelight was too bright but he needed to see, needed to see _Anders._ His touch wasn’t enough, not now. He snatched the blindfold away and squinted in the bright light, seeing the blurry silhouette of Anders stepping between him and the light and leaning in close to gently kiss his forehead. Anders smiled against him, running fingers through his hair until Hawke could see again.

“Intense?” Anders asked. His face swam into focus – cheeks flushed and hair ruffled, his smile was warm and inviting.

“In all the best ways,” said Hawke.

“Good.” Anders knelt to untie his ankles, kneading gently at the reddened skin around the ropes. “I didn’t realise how much you strained at these,” he said with a frown. “You could have hurt yourself.”

“Have I ever mentioned how much more _fun_ this is with a healer around?” Hawke chuckled, and Anders swatted his leg with a mock scowl.

Hawke picked at the wax on his chest as Anders fussed over his bruises – it was going to be hell to pry loose from his chest hair, perhaps there was a spell for _that…_ his mind wandered, pleasantly vague as he gradually eased out of their game and into the real world. Finally Anders was satisfied – he rose to his feet and slipped an arm around Hawke’s back to help him to his feet. Hawke refrained from pointing out if he fell he would take the skinny mage down with him, and let himself be helped to the bed. He’d have to move again soon – clean up, put away the ropes and pick up the scattered clothing, but for now he didn’t have to think or move. Everything stopped here – from his position as Champion down to the smallest responsibility. Hawke let the world narrow down to this – fading aches, the echo of pleasure, and the warm comfort of Anders in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks angryfeatheredvagrant and actualanders from Tumblr for reading over this and reassuring me before I posted it! I'm on Tumblr too as felixbug, come say hi :)


End file.
